A CHAMPION DAY
Posted: Thu Jul 28, 2011 6:06 pm
A CHAMPION DAY
She was quite young but he was old, hung round race courses so I’m told.
She was tiny, he was tall, a fact she didn’t mind at all.
They both enjoyed their weekly stroll in sync together, heart and soul.
The suns feeble effort to shine warmed them both from time to time.
She wore a hat to keep her warm and Drizabone in case of storm.
Mum busy knitting baby clothes; gives not a thought where daughter goes.
He tossed his long strawberry blond locks and swished his tail around his hocks
and noticed a gap in the hedge and recalled others that were edged
with birch. He’d cleared Bechers with ease so jumping this would be a breeze.
A silent message he her sent, to settle, lean forward. Knees bent,
she gripped more firmly with her thighs, she felt him soar, she felt him rise
and like the champ he was of old he swiftly galloped, fleet and bold.
He leaped, he soared and cleared with ease the hedge – and she was mighty pleased.
All lessons had come into play she rode her hurdler here today.
Over and out, they galloped on, the tiny girl on race horse strong,
over the paddocks grassy knolls, embroidered with golden jonquils.
Old bloke with pocket watch in hand noted their path and thought it grand.
By crikey that young lass can ride and that old bloke ain’t missed a stride.
And on they galloped both inspired though he was getting somewhat tired.
But in the distance fields he knew, the dog leg track, one blackened yew
a remnant from the fires last year, that saw green paddocks disappear
to wasteland, crops stood all forlorn. Thousands of acres - scorched popcorn.
A foggy outlook they thought then – but human spirits rose again.
Today they were both filled with joy – the little girl and Beauchamps Boy
Maureen Clifford © 07/11
She was quite young but he was old, hung round race courses so I’m told.
She was tiny, he was tall, a fact she didn’t mind at all.
They both enjoyed their weekly stroll in sync together, heart and soul.
The suns feeble effort to shine warmed them both from time to time.
She wore a hat to keep her warm and Drizabone in case of storm.
Mum busy knitting baby clothes; gives not a thought where daughter goes.
He tossed his long strawberry blond locks and swished his tail around his hocks
and noticed a gap in the hedge and recalled others that were edged
with birch. He’d cleared Bechers with ease so jumping this would be a breeze.
A silent message he her sent, to settle, lean forward. Knees bent,
she gripped more firmly with her thighs, she felt him soar, she felt him rise
and like the champ he was of old he swiftly galloped, fleet and bold.
He leaped, he soared and cleared with ease the hedge – and she was mighty pleased.
All lessons had come into play she rode her hurdler here today.
Over and out, they galloped on, the tiny girl on race horse strong,
over the paddocks grassy knolls, embroidered with golden jonquils.
Old bloke with pocket watch in hand noted their path and thought it grand.
By crikey that young lass can ride and that old bloke ain’t missed a stride.
And on they galloped both inspired though he was getting somewhat tired.
But in the distance fields he knew, the dog leg track, one blackened yew
a remnant from the fires last year, that saw green paddocks disappear
to wasteland, crops stood all forlorn. Thousands of acres - scorched popcorn.
A foggy outlook they thought then – but human spirits rose again.
Today they were both filled with joy – the little girl and Beauchamps Boy
Maureen Clifford © 07/11
